


Untranquil

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gang Rape, Multi, Object Penetration, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 23:53:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11241894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A mage is trapped in the Kirkwall Gallows after the Rite of Tranquility fails.(In which Kirkwall is a horrible place and basically all Templars are evil and I don't know why I even wrote this, it's horrible and I need Andraste)





	Untranquil

She's been camped out on the Wounded Coast for days when they finally chase her down. Ragged and half-starved, freezing in a dress that was meant to be worn fetching wine from the cellars, not out in the driving rain trying to sniff out food like a wild animal. What food was found on the coast anyway? Fish? Fish is a thing you buy from the market, let Cook haggle over the cost before you haul it back in a basket, an ache between your shoulders.

Apostate, they call her, and she's too scared and exhausted to put up a fight but they do something without touching her that leaves her ears ringing, her mind fuzzy with more than hunger. Then her hands are bound in front and she has to walk with them, walk back to Kirkwall in her flimsy boots worn thin and coming apart at the sides. She stumbles so often they end up tying a rope around her waist, one end held so they can jerk her back upright before she falls.

“Wouldn't it be quicker to carry her, Ser? She doesn't weigh much.”

“We're not fucking pack horses, recruit. Bitch got this far on foot, she can get back on foot.”

“She’s skinny, Ser. Should we give her something to eat?”

Please, Maker, please.

“She can eat at the Gallows.”

Though she knows that's where they're headed, has known it since she was eight years old and felt the stirrings of the Fade around her, to hear it aloud makes her knees buckle.

“Keep that fucking thing upright or we'll be walking back in the dark,” the senior Templar snaps.

 

They do feed her at the Gallows, plain food but not terrible, and her cell is dim and damp and cold, but clean. Her wrists are chafed and her feet throb, but she’s alive for now.

“Don’t put up a struggle, child,” Cook said, pressing a bundle of food into her hands. “If they catch you, go easy or it’ll go badly for you. Now get out of my sight.”

The fire hadn’t been burning right. Not her fault, the wood was too green and that wasn’t her job, but them upstairs needed breakfast cooked and it was on her head if it wasn’t done in time. So she helped it along a bit and one of the kitchen boys saw. Stupid, stupid. Nowhere to run but she ran anyway, until she came to the coast and couldn’t think where else to run.

 

The mages shuffle around the corridors, part like water when a Templar strides through. Eyes down and they might not see you, keep in line and you might avoid punishment. Might. Because magic is a sin in itself, and sins must be punished.

Meredith. Stay out of her way, you might think you’re beneath her notice but nothing is beneath her notice, and she has a hard face. Cruel eyes.

Knight-Captain Cullen. They all call him by his title for some reason. Stern, not cruel or petty, at least not in public. She thinks he seems decent enough, but she’s come to know you can’t trust the appearance of decency in this place. Not once the halls are dark and the doors are locked.

She’s got a room of her own, since she passed her Harrowing. Not so hard. If they wanted to test her they should have pulled a desire demon - for even a false promise of freedom she’d have sold her soul, what was it worth in here anyway? But they brought her rage, and she’s moved past that.

At least she thinks she has. A room of her own, and in they come at night. Alrik’s voice she knows but they’re all faceless in the dark, hands and metal and sweat and filth, bent over her narrow bed. She can’t pretend it’s the wine merchant’s apprentice with the laughing brown eyes, out against the wall in the kitchen courtyard. They’re too rough for that, too delighted by the tears on her face, the shame that makes her clench against them. On the third night she’s ready for them, but she finds soon enough they’re ready for her too. That blanketing dizzy feeling, and her magic is snuffed out like a candle.

A fist in her hair and one in her stomach and she’s dragged through the corridors.  _ Danger  _ is mentioned, and  _ bitch _ , and  _ tranquility _ . There could be worse things, she’s always thought. It might be nice not to feel. But hearing the word something in her breaks and she struggles, screams until they knock her cold.

 

She doesn’t know how long she drifts in the darkness. Only that something floats there with her, something warm and bright and curious brushing at the edges of her consciousness. Is it a demon? She studied as hard as she could before her Harrowing but she was a slow reader, having to trace the letters with her fingers and sound out the words, and even then the meaning of the texts escaped her more often than not. But she’s afraid and she doesn’t want to be alone. Stay, she begs. Stay.

 

Cold stone against her cheek. When she moves she feels the ache of bruises old and new. Tranquil. They’re going to make her Tranquil. There’s an itch on her forehead, and when she scratches it it tingles uncomfortably.

Heavy footsteps outside the door. “Ser.”

“It’s done?”

“Yes Ser, the mage is Tranquil.” There are more here? That’s why they haven’t gotten to her yet. “She hasn’t woken up yet, Ser, but she’s breathing.”

Heavy keys rattle in the door and she shuts her eyes. Two sets of boots enter, and one prods her side. “Very good. When she wakes up have her sent to the Tranquil quarters and assigned duties.”

Her. They mean her. But she’s not…? They can’t have her mixed up with another mage, the Tranquil have a brand on their…

They leave her and she finally sits up, traces the skin of her forehead with shaking fingers. There’s nothing to feel but that itch, the faint tingle of lyrium. She’d never seen the stuff before the Gallows, and it still makes her skin crawl.

It can’t be right. But if it is…

Following orders. Keeping your head down. Hiding the resentment that sometimes threatened to choke you, under the weight of a thousand tiny injustices. These things made for a good mage, and a better servant. Ser, yes Ser, at once Ser, begging your pardon milady, no that’s not the wine you asked for, yes the tea is overstrong, I’ll make another. Don’t let them know how you really feel, or they’d have you out in the gutter before the tea was cooled.

So it’s easy enough when they fetch her to stay blank and compliant. Tranquil.

 

Kitchen duty. At least the work is familiar, and she’s surrounded by day by the chatter of the paid servants, although they give her a wide berth and don’t meet her eyes when they have to speak to her. She mustn’t laugh at their jokes, or wince when she burns herself on a hot kettle. Must be careful because if they know she’s not really Tranquil, perhaps the mistake can be rectified.

She’s allowed out to run simple errands in the market. Those are the hardest times, to remember that outside of the Gallows she still wears the brand and the red robe of a Tranquil and she can’t turn her face up to the sun, can’t smile at kittens playing in the dirt, can’t do anything at all when the baker’s boy brushes too close to her breast, grinning.

She could keep walking one of these days, but even if she made it out of the city without being questioned that would just put her back on the run, starving, in a slightly warmer robe than last time. And when they found her again…

It’s not the worst thing, being Tranquil. The others in the Tranquil quarter look at her sometimes when she does something strange, like wrap a towel around herself after bathing or sigh when she finally sits down on her bunk after a long day in the kitchen. They notice there’s something different about her, but she’s not afraid of them. They don’t care enough to wonder.

 

There are whispers that Alrik has vanished, but she can’t ask anyone what they’ve heard. In the quiet of the Tranquil quarters she laughs, and heads turn towards her and then away. She’s mostly unmolested now, except a sallow-faced undercook who sometimes catches her alone in the storeroom and paws at her until he hears someone coming. The head cook doesn’t tolerate too much nonsense in her kitchen.

There’s an astringent tea that goes with the Tranquil’s dinner. She suspects what it’s for, and somehow that makes her angrier than anything, the tacit admission that the Tranquil need to be guarded against pregnancy by medicinal means because physical means are failing.

When the Qunari finally attack she stands under the small window of the Tranquil quarters, sees the glow in the sky and smells the smoke. Good, she thinks. Burn it all. But the Champion saves them, and things go on as always.

 

There’s a night when she’s kept late scrubbing a burned pot, and makes her way back after curfew. The corridors are empty and eerie, and when she hears laughter and heavy footfalls she freezes. She can’t get in trouble, surely? It’s not her idea to be out after curfew. She’s a Tranquil, they don’t have ideas.

The templars that round the corner are young. No more than recruits, and merry with drink. 

“Got one!” Noble, most of them are, third sons and bastards, shipped off to the Chantry. Red hair, no more than eighteen. About her own age, but she couldn’t say what the date is now, only that it’s summer and her nameday passed in winter. Back in the house, she’d have gotten a bed in one of the bigger rooms downstairs, sharing with one girl instead of three. Her own washstand.

“That’s not a mage.” This one’s taller, darker, perhaps a bit older, noble accent as well.   
“Close enough, surely? It’s a pretty one.” Red hair looks her up and down and she wishes she could run. Wishes she had somewhere to run to.

Dark hair’s not convinced. “I was hoping we could find some rutting. You know they’ll be too ashamed to tell anyone. And they’re already up for it.”

“Harder to find, now.” They’re in front of her now, and red hair pulls her to his side, grins at his companion. “Maybe this was one of them? Punished for sucking mage cock in a corner of the library.”

“She’ll do. We might not get another tonight.” Dark hair looks her up and down. “Bring her along, quick.”

She’s hustled along the hall and pulled into a room, four bunks and a table where two more recruits sit at a game of cards. A blond boy and a girl with dark hair cut to chin length. There’s a girl here, it can’t be too bad, whatever they’ve got planned.

The first two are grinning, pleased with themselves. “This is...what’s your name?” says red hair.

Calm. Tranquil. “Anna.”

“This is Anna, and she’ll be joining us this evening.”

The girl just shakes her head and goes on shuffling cards. Blond hair looks angry. “What are you doing?” Kirkwall accent, common.

“Just thought some company might be nice.” He sits and drags her down on his lap. Fondles her breast through the robe. “There’s plenty to go round.”

“If you get caught with her in here, we’re all in trouble.”

“May as well make it worthwhile then.” He thrusts against her hips suggestively and the girl laughs. She doesn’t feel so safe anymore.

The girl deals the cards, pushes a pile towards blond hair and he scowls. “I don’t want anything to do with this.”

Behind her, a shrug. “Your choice.” He shifts her so his thigh sits between her legs and she keeps her face studiously blank.

Dark hair pours drinks, sits down.

“You’re not going to offer our guest one?” Red is pushing her hair back from her neck. “Mmm, she smells like fresh baked bread.”

Dark is amused. “What happens when you get a Tranquil drunk?”

“It might be fun to find out.” His lips ghost against her neck, and she’s horrified to feel her body respond. It’s been so long since she was touched in a way that wasn’t perfunctory and brutal and the sweet wrongness of it makes her want to cry. No, no. Tranquil don’t cry.

“If you get her drunk, they’ll smell it on her,” warns Blond.

“So what? Doesn’t prove we gave it to her.” Dark hands her a cup, too full of potent whisky. “There you go, my lady. Drink up.”

Tranquil don’t say no. She drinks the whole thing, careful not to choke on the first mouthful, and already her limbs feel numb and heavy. She slumps a little against Red’s chest and he laughs. “I think she likes it!” Her head is pulled to the side and lips close over hers, a tongue pushed in her mouth.

The girl makes a noise of disgust. “Don’t kiss it!”

“Jealous, are we?” He rests his chin on her shoulder and she stares straight ahead, doesn’t look at his hand bunching in the skirt of her robes.

“You wish. I could have you any time I wanted.” Girl puts a card on the pile.

“What’s stopping you then?” He’s watching Girl while he inches her robe up her legs.

“I don’t want you.”

“Her loss, right sweetheart?” He’s found skin, hand resting on her bare knee and he rubs his thumb in a circle, kisses her neck.

“Stop that,” says Blond.

“Not a chance.”

Blond and Dark stand at the same time.

“If you don’t want to be here, make yourself useful and stand watch.” There’s a sneer in Dark’s voice reserved for the lowborn, a threat in his posture. Blond flushes in anger. His eyes flicker to her face, away in shame.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he mutters, and the door closes quietly behind him.

The three remaining exchange glances, laugh at his prudishness.

“You heard the man, Hugh.” Dark is looking at her now and she doesn’t like what she sees in his eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Stupid?” Hugh fondles her breast with one hand while the other runs up the inside of her thigh. The fog of alcohol makes it easier for her not to react when his fingers slip inside her smallclothes. “Is this stupid?” More laughter. He stops, moves his fingers experimentally. “Are they supposed to be wet?”

“You haven’t had a Tranquil before?” says Dark.

“I haven’t…” he clears his throat and the other two look at each other, wide-eyed.

“He’s a virgin!” crows Girl. “Oh, this is too good.”

“Are they, though?” Hugh tries to steer the subject back. “I mean, she’s really wet.”

“Not usually, no.” Dark holds out a hand. “Let me see.”

They hand her over like a sack of potatoes, and another hand invades her skirts. “Fuck, she is.” Two fingers are pushed inside her. “This is fucking great.” He finds her clit with his thumb. “I wonder if you can get them off.”

“What a pair of romantics.” Girl shakes her head.

“All this could be yours, Jana. Just say the word.” His hand’s still moving between her legs, and shamefully she feels her body shudder under his touch. He whoops in triumph. “Fuck. She came. I’m sure she just came.”

Blank. Tranquil. When he turns her she meets his eyes, giving nothing away. “That good, was it?” His hand finds her breast and pinches her nipple hard through her robe, looking for a reaction. 

The door is cracked open. “Rounds. The Knight Commander.”

“Shit. Shit.” She’s pushed onto her feet.

“We need to get this one again,” says the one called Hugh. “Can we order it to come back?”

“I am not permitted in the halls after curfew.” She keeps her eyes down, voice dull.

“Where do you work, Tranquil?” says Dark.

_ Anna. I told you my name was Anna. _

“The kitchens, Ser.”

“We’ll think of something,” he says. “Quick, get out. Go home. And don’t tell anyone.”

“Yes, Ser.” She finds herself in the corridor, flushed and unsteady, disoriented, and the sound of encroaching footsteps behind her.

“You there!” Knight-Commander Cullen. She stands still.

“What are you doing out after curfew?” He’s so tall, so stern. Tranquil don’t shake.

“I was late back from the kitchens, Ser.”

“That shouldn’t take you here.” He narrows his eyes. “Have...have you been drinking?”

No point lying, she probably reeks of it. At least it might cover the smell of sex. “Yes, Ser.”

He takes her chin, not roughly but it’s hard to be gentle in metal gauntlets, and tilts her face to the light.

“What’s your name, Tranquil?”

“Anna, Ser.”

“Who made you drink, Anna?”

“I don’t know, Ser.” Do the Tranquil say Ser? She can’t remember. It’s more or less the truth, anyway.

“Was it someone in the kitchens?”

“I don’t remember, Ser. Sorry, Ser.”

Too much. His eyes narrow. But then he looks at her brand, as if for confirmation, and there it is on her face. Tranquil.

“Maker’s breath, this place is…Come with me.” She’s afraid he’s going to take her somewhere for questioning, or punishment. Or something else altogether. But at the end of a corridor he turns her to the left. “You should know the way from here. And next time someone wants you to drink, you can refuse.”

That’s what you think. “Thank you, Ser.” She feels his eyes on her back as she weaves her way towards the Tranquil quarters.

 

“We need to borrow your Tranquil, ma’am.”

Cook wipes her hands on her apron. “Which one?”

“That one.” She doesn’t look up from the dough she’s kneading.

“Anna? What for?”

“She’s needed for questioning.” It’s a female voice. The girl. Jana.

“You want to question Anna?” Cook is incredulous. They’re all glancing at her now, curious. She carries on pushing at the dough, folding it, turning it. “Is this because she was out past curfew the other night? That was my fault. I needed her to work late.”

“It’s procedure, ma’am. We need to be sure she didn’t get up to anything.”

“Get up to anything? She’s a bloody Tranquil, what’s she going to get up to?” Cook bellows across the kitchen. “Anna! Leave that and get over here.” She glares at the recruit. “Don’t keep her long, she’s got work to do. Wash your hands, girl.”

She follows the Templar mutely through the corridors. It’s late, but a few hours before curfew. There are a few people about, mages and Templars, but the mages keep their heads down and nobody’s going to look twice at a Tranquil following a Templar, particularly not a female Templar.

“Derick,” she hisses at the door. “I got her.” She’s pushed into the same room. “Don’t take too long though, the cook almost didn’t buy it.”

“You are the best, Jana.”

She smiles. “Don’t you forget it. And get it done before Ewan comes back or we’re all in for a lecture. I’ll be outside.”

“Prissy upstart,” the dark haired one mutters. “Fucking commoners, always so desperate to prove themselves.”

“He’s not so bad,” says Hugh. “Glad he’s on patrol for this, though.” He licks his lips nervously. They’re both out of full plate, down to just tunics and leggings.

“Well then? We’ve got until the next bell to make a man of you.”

“Do you think she’ll…?”

Derick laughs. “Don’t get carried away. It’s your first time, just concentrate on sticking it in the right hole.”

“Look, do...do you really need to be here for this? It’s making me nervous enough as it is.”

“What are you going to do, disappoint her?” Derick looks her up and down the way Cook looks at a cut of meat. “I’ll go outside, but let me know when it’s my turn. I’d say don’t take too long, but…”

“Very funny.” Hugh’s focus is on her now. “Thank you. And I will. Let you know, that is.”

Derick claps him on the shoulder. “Make us proud.”

They’re alone. His confidence is less tonight, without the drink. Awkwardly, he backs her up against the bunks and kisses her. Would a real Tranquil close her eyes, or keep them open? She settles for looking off to the side as he fumbles at the front of her robe, gets it open to her waist and is foiled by her breastband.

“You girls and your complicated clothing,” he jokes, but it falls flat when she doesn’t laugh. “Fuck it.” He hikes her robes up and pulls down her smallclothes, over her boots and off. “Lie down there.” Gesturing to a bottom bunk.

She complies, studying the wood grain above her head. It’s scrawled with graffiti, crude pictures and foul things about Meredith that almost make her smile. Then he’s on top of her and kissing her mouth again, then her neck and it almost feels right. He’s clawing at her breastband and he manages to bare the top curve of her breasts enough to bury his face there.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbles. “You might be a Tranquil, but at least you’re pretty.” Her skirts are dragged up to her waist and he fumbles to free himself from the constricts of his own clothing. Then the head of his cock is pressed up against her and with some swearing and pushing, he’s inside. “Fuck.” 

There’s a knot in the wood above her head and that’s where she focuses. His breath is hot against her neck, her leg pulled up around his waist to let him in deeper, and at first it’s just pressure and uncomfortable friction, but he falls into a rhythm and she feels the unwelcome return of desire. When he groans and spills inside her she’s both relieved and disappointed, and she hates herself for it.

He smooths her hair back. “Thank you, Anna.” A kiss on her cheek and it’s all she can do not to turn her head in disgust.

It’s not over yet. Murmured voices and the door opens to admit the second Templar. “Stay and watch,” she hears him say. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

He bends down and takes in her dishevelled robes, her pale thighs still exposed. Smiles, and she feels the first stirring of fear. This one would enjoy hurting her, she knows.

“Turn over.” She scrambles over awkwardly on the narrow bed and lies on her stomach, not sure where her hands should be. In the end he grabs them and shifts them above her head, palms flat on the mattress. She’s lifted and the pillow goes underneath her, angling her hips upwards.   
She’s afraid he’s going to violate her in a different way, but when it comes it’s her cunt that’s invaded again, a deep stroke on the first thrust that buries him in her to the hilt. And again. He’s controlled, precise, pulling out slow and hard back in. “Is she wet again, or is that you?”

“No, she was wet for me too.”

“Did you get her off?” His weight is resting on his elbows and each thrust pushes her against the pillow, an aching tension growing between her legs.

“Don’t think so.”

Derick grunts. “Can’t have that, can we darling?” He leans on one elbow, works the other hand under her and pushes between her legs. He picks up speed and keeps pace with his fingers, grinding against her clit until she’s racked by shudders, face buried in the mattress to keep her cries silent. “That’s it. Come for me.” He laughs. “I can’t believe it. Little Tranquil whore.” A few more sharp thrusts and he spills inside her, warm on the back of her thighs when he pulls out. “You have to try it next time, it feels fucking amazing.”

Next time. She closes her eyes, but is dragged roughly up. “Can you find your way back?” She nods.

“Here.” Hugh thrusts a cloth at her. “Clean yourself up.”

Silently she wipes down her thighs, straightens her robes. Her hair is escaping in wisps and she pulls it out of her braid, rebraids it quickly. The two men watch her, still grinning as if they can’t believe their luck.

“Anna.” She pauses at the door. “Aren’t you going to thank us for the good time you had?”

She turns, not meeting their eyes. “Thank you, Sers.”

“Hurry back now.”

“It reeks of sex in here,” she hears Jana complain as she retraces her steps along the corridor.

 

She could tell someone. It will draw attention to her, but she has to tell someone or they’ll never stop. And they should stop. She should want them to stop. 

Tell who? She knows it’s forbidden, they’ve made that much clear. The Grand Enchanter? He can’t discipline them, he’d have to involve the Templars. Knight-Captain Cullen? Who’s to say she wouldn’t be in as much trouble as them? A man isn’t good just because he passed up one opportunity to beat you or rape you. The thought of being alone under that stern gaze makes her legs shake.

Bethany Hawke. She sees her around, she’s kind to everyone, even the Tranquil. Her sister’s the Champion, she could...but no. If the Champion had any power in here, her sister wouldn’t be locked up.

At least they have no more excuse to fetch her from the kitchens, not without raising suspicion. It’s opportunistic now, waylaying her on the way to the markets for a fast, hard fuck. She’s so close to tears the first time Hugh makes her come, so aroused and ashamed and full of hate for them and for herself. But Tranquil don’t cry.

One time Hugh fucks her while on the other bunk Derick has his face buried between Jana’s thighs, and she has to listen to the girl’s wanton moans, keep her face impassive when Hugh grins at her, spurred on to harder and deeper strokes, hand furiously working at her clit to try and elicit the same reaction. But she’s Tranquil, and all he gets is her cunt tightening around him, shamefully wet, her body convulsing under his, eyes fixed on a point over his shoulder.

 

Tensions in the Circle rise, and mages are confined to their quarters. Less people around, the night they catch her on the way back from the kitchens.

“Drink up,” says Derick. “It’s my name day.” She drains the cup, and it’s quickly refilled and pressed into her hand. The room is spinning a little around her when she’s ordered to take her robes off, and her fingers are clumsy on the fastenings. Then it’s cold, and she’s naked, and she’s on her back on the table and not quite sure how she got there. There’s someone’s face between her legs, and a process of elimination reveals it’s Hugh, the other two looking on, drunk and raucous.

“Nooo,” says Jana. “Slower. And softer. Now faster.”

“You’ll confuse the boy,” says Derick, but it doesn’t matter because she’s come apart, bucking into his mouth, and they clap like it’s a tourney.

Her head’s lifted up and more drink poured into her mouth, spilling down her chin. Then Derick’s between her thighs, fucking her, and Jana pinches her nipple, and Hugh staggers over and kisses her wetly and she comes again, tears leaking from her eyes.

“It’s crying,” Jana says in wonder. “I didn’t know they could cry.” She twists her nipple harder, hoping for more tears.

Derick grabs her neck and draws her in for a kiss. “It must be your turn.”

“My turn?” Anna’s eyes drift shut, open again to see the girl looking down at her with fascination and disgust, fingers buried in her cunt. “You’ve made a mess in there.”

“Taste it,” says Hugh.

“Yuck, no.” Her fingers withdraw and Anna rests her head back on the table.

“You’re not. Are you? Oh Maker, she is.” Someone claps in delight and something presses cold between her legs, pushes hard and unyielding inside her cunt. Jana laughs.

“There you go boys, I’ve got a sword too.” The rounded end of the pommel rocks back and forth and she’s over the edge once more, crying out.

“What the fuck is this?” There’s a draught. The door, the door is open and the Templar’s sword is still moving inside her.

“Ewan! Come in, you’re missing my party!”

“Stop that.” The motion ceases. “Take it out. This is unacceptable.”

She’s empty, cold and naked.

“You are no fun.”

“I should report you all.”

“You could try. It’s likely to hurt your career more than ours.”

“It’s just a Tranquil, Ewan. It doesn’t even know what’s happening.”

“That wouldn’t make it better even if it were true.” She’s pulled upright, protesting weakly, a blanket draped around her shoulders.

“You should walk your sweetheart home, then.” Bundled robes hit her in the face as she sways on the edge of the table. More hands on her, this time pushing her arms into sleeves, pulling rough fabric down to cover her. Her bare feet hit the floor and she sways, supported by a plated arm.

“Good night, Anna.” Derick waves a hand in her face. “Thank you for a lovely party.”

The door shuts behind them and the recruit takes her by the shoulders, looks into her face. She meets his eyes, confused.

Tranquil. Tranquil, calm, quiet.

“What?” He frowns.

She spoke aloud. She shakes her head. Not me, I didn’t say it. I’m Tranquil.

“I should take you to the Knight-Captain.”

“No.”

“Someone should do something.”

“No Knight-Captain. No.” She leans hard against him, forehead pressed to his breastplate.

The one called Ewan sighs. “We have to get you cleaned up at least. Come with me.”

He takes her to a sheltered courtyard, dampens a cloth in the clear fountain waters. The water is cool against her abused flesh. She’s not wearing any smallclothes, but they’re probably beyond embarrassment by now. Tranquil have no concept of modesty anyway.

“Did you just laugh?”

Laugh? No. Tranquil. Serious. She presses her lips together and shakes her head.

He draws her into a patch of moonlight, searching her face. No face. Blank. Drunk. Tranquil.

“There’s something strange about you,” he murmurs. She shuts her eyes, raises her face to the moonlight. It’s not warm.

“I should get you to bed.” She almost laughs again. But he’s not laughing. He’s tracing her lips with his thumb, stroking her jaw, cupping the back of her neck and kissing her. Drunk and uncaring, she opens her mouth to him, flicks her tongue against his.

“I’m sorry.” Why should he be sorry? He’s a Templar, he can do whatever he wants. Like now, backing her against the wall and kissing her again, hands running up and down her body. “I’m so sorry.”

Tranquil. It means I don’t care. And she doesn’t, when he turns her around and lifts her robes, fucks her against the courtyard wall, moonlight spilling down on them, still murmuring, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t, I’m so sorry.” Poor, helpless boy. She doesn’t think he notices when she comes, too busy chasing his own peak, lifting her onto her toes.

When he’s done she sinks down onto a marble bench, suddenly tired. “I’ll sleep here.” 

“You can’t.” He yanks her up. “We were never here, hear me? I could get in a lot of trouble for what we just did.”

“Yes, Ser.” Trouble. Trouble was for serving girls who didn’t heat the water fast enough. For apostates who ran away, mages who fought back, Tranquil who walked in the wrong place at the wrong time. He won’t get in trouble.

“You can find your own way here, can’t you?” he asks. “I can’t be seen.”

He’s invisible. That must be nice. She nods.

“I am sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t mean to.”

He slipped. It happens. She doesn’t care, she wants to sleep.

 

So pretty, the glow in the sky. The Chantry’s gone. She used to go there sometimes, in another life.

“What do we do with the Tranquil?” Templars are milling in the corridor, hands on their swords. “We have to kill the mages, but what about the Tranquil?”

“Just...put them somewhere, for now. Most of the mages are still locked in their quarters, they should be taken care of easily enough.”

She’s looking at the ground. Tranquil. It means I can’t cast. Looks up. Armoured templars, faces so familiar. She smiles at the ones she recognises.

“Ser, the Tranquil…”

“I said we’ll deal with them later!”

“No Ser, that one...she’s laughing.”

More of them are staring now, slow to react. All my friends are here. Good. Thanks for a lovely party. She raises her hands, and everything burns, and she laughs and laughs.


End file.
